


A Manor of Speaking

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Friendship, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-29
Updated: 2007-08-29
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A Death Hallows missing moment from Chapters 23 – Malfoy Manor and 24 – Shell Cottage in Ron’s perspective.





	A Manor of Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Someone asked the other day that they wondered what happened between Ron and Hermione after they arrived at Shell Cottage.  Here is my suggestion.  Thanks to JKR for everything this is based on.  


* * *

 

The scene was decaying fast.  Hexes were flying left and right and Ron was nearly too preoccupied to notice Harry battling it out on the other side of the room.  Even with all the commotion, it was impossible not to notice the enormity of this room he was in and the fact that it was certainly part of an equally expansive home.  Lucius Malfoy had obviously done well for himself, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was desperately trying to get to Hermione and managing his own escape as well, he would have almost cringed witnessing the destruction of such opulent surroundings.

 

However, at the moment he was dodging another curse, rolling to his right and sending a response that, luckily, hit its mark and depleted the army of Death Eaters to one less. 

 

Hermione had been tortured.  Just minutes earlier, her screams had echoed through the walls and vents and pierced his heart as he stood trapped in a basement holding cell.  During his captivity, her cries echoed each curse that Bellatrix Lestrange sent at her.  First a question, then a curse and no matter Hermione’s response, right or wrong, truth or lie, the curses always came and with it the terrifying thought that she might not survive the torture.  It was the longest twenty minutes of Ron’s life.

 

He was sure that upon hearing her wail for the second time, his heart had simply dropped out of his chest and sunk into his stomach, for it truly felt that something had been ripped from him.  His gut knotted in horror as he pounded out his terror and anger on the walls below her.  His fear for her easily outweighed his own predicament and it was with this realization that Ron understood the depth of his feelings for his best friend.

 

As her cries had diminished, turning to whimpers that he strained to hear, hoping that they would prove witness to the life still coursing through her; he felt it.  There was a tugging in his chest, an emptiness that was swallowing him at the thought of being without her.  Weeks, no months, of covert glances, smiling eyes and even the most infinitesimal gestures of his feelings toward her seemed to rush him like a wave of uncompleted destiny.  His life, his very soul, was evaporating through her screams and he knew without doubt that he had run out of time.

 

Ron’s procrastination in expressing anything more tangible toward his lovely friend was costing him dearly and he continued banging until his fists were numb, unable to even sense the ache within them.  He loved this girl and was about to lose her.

 

Ron’s delirium seemed to block any rational thought on a means to escape, but he had Harry to thank for keeping a cool head and getting them out of that cellar.  After first tackling Wormtail and then with utter horror, watching him strangle himself despite their attempts to stop it, they were free.  Just as Bellatrix was about to hand over Hermione to the abhorrent and dangerous Fenrir Grayback, who demonstrated malicious delight in either biting her or other atrocities, Ron screamed and barreled into the room.  His rage and passion consuming him, he entered the fray, Harry right behind him.  Ron’s only thought was to reach her crumpled form lying on the floor, curled into a fetal position.  He almost wished she would scream or cry again just so he would know she was alive and conscious.  As it appeared, she looked frail, beaten, her beautiful brown curls covering her face like a shroud, leaving Ron unable to see her face.

 

Suddenly, tempting the scene to deteriorate even more, Bellatrix held a small silver knife to Hermione’s throat and demanded they drop the wands just recently confiscated in the previous moment’s exchange.  The fear of dropping his only means of defense was only eclipsed by the droplet of blood on Hermione’s throat as the knife threatened to end her before their very eyes.  One glance at her pale face and Ron’s grip slackened, his mind instantly whirling to his next option.

 

Just then a shudder dressed the room and a loud crack drew everyone’s attention up.  The enormous chandelier was pulling loose of its anchorage, the crystal teardrops tinkling eerily as it began to sway.  For a fleeting second, Ron almost considered that the Manor was speaking, demanding its owners stop all the destruction and allow it to continue on in ornate splendor.  Ron felt his eyes follow his head in slow motion as he looked back and forth between the great jingling pendulum and Hermione’s immobile body lying directly beneath.  Ron felt guilty for not jumping underneath it or diving to cover her, but his feet remained rooted to the spot as the last bolt broke free and the fixture fell from the ceiling.  

 

“Hermione, no!” he screamed within his own mind, fearing what his eyes were about to witness. 

 

Bellatrix dropped her and with everyone else, dove for safety as bits of glass, metal and wire scattered over the floor.  It seemed ironic that the home of a Death Eater was, in fact, attacking its own.  Ron heard the cries of pain and saw the blood on several of his enemy’s faces and hands as the building shook from the avalanche of sparkling shards.  Draco’s face was bloodied, his mother reaching him first.  A soft cry from just feet away and a hint of movement from Hermione shook him from his stupor and he ran toward her, stepping over the bent metal structure and waving at the plaster dust that was now raining over the room.  

 

As if in a memory or a dream, Ron faintly heard the verbal exchange going on around him.  Dobby, Bellatrix and Harry were all speaking.  He thought he understood that Dobby had brought down the chandelier, but he was far too intent on his goal.

 

Incredibly, the twisted wreckage had fallen all around Hermione, leaving her in a funnel of limited safety as her body lay pressed below the fixture, but resting just inches from the heaviest and most dangerous part of the frame.  She attempted to push herself up as Ron finally reached her.  Desperate to see her eyes, he lifted the hair from her face, needing proof that she was indeed with him and not just an empty shell whose spark had been damaged beyond repair.  She lifted her head weakly, her brown eyes making contact with him.  Those eyes that usually shone with brilliance and the fire of compassion and kindness were dull and watery, the frown on her face demonstrating the pain ravishing her body.

 

He wanted to comfort her, to hold her close and tell her everything would be alright – that he would take care of her, but the immediate need was escape.  Wrapping an arm around her back, he reached under her arm and pulled her up, not knowing whether she would be able to stand on her own, but needing to get her moving.

 

Then, Harry’s loud voice captured Ron’s attention.  

 

“Ron, Catch…GO!”

 

A glance to his right and he witnessed his best mate tossing a wand to him, trying to make his own escape, Dobby at this side.  If Hermione were in better shape he would have stayed to assist his friend, to make sure he got out, but sensing that he would have to count on Dobby to take care of his other best friend, he focused his thoughts on his brother’s home and with a twist and a pop they Disapparated.

 

Swirling through space Ron only sensed his arm still holding her as tightly as he could manage and prayed that his landing would be sufficient to prevent her from any more pain.  His prayers were answered with a somewhat rocky, but solid landing on their feet.  Before he could even thank his legs for their support, Hermione’s body slumped.  With an arm still around her, he sank to the ground as well, pulled down by her own lack of strength. 

 

“Hermione, it’s alright,” he panted.  “You’re safe now.”  Again, searching out her face, he stroked the hair from her eyes as her head lolled back to rest on his arm.  With an almost instinctive movement, her knees pulled up into her stomach and she rolled to her side.  

 

At this point, Ron was nearly desperate for her to speak, to give him some sign that he hadn’t been too late.  Instead, his reprieve came with a sob.  Her trembling hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt as her shoulders shook.

 

“Shh, Hermione.  It’s alright.  I’ve got you.”  He continued rubbing her arm and stroking the hair from her face, remembering how his mother’s similar actions always seemed to sooth him as a young child.

 

“Ron.”

 

That one word, warbly as it sounded through her tears, filled him with inexplicable joy.  He understood at once that it was all she could manage at the moment, but his heart filled with immeasurable strength and he slid an arm underneath her legs, the other around her back and stood up, pulling her body into his chest.  Having never carried anyone like this before, he was surprised how effortless it seemed.  Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping into his system or more likely, the surge of happiness at hearing his name whispered from her lips.

 

Her right arm reached around his neck, again fisting his shirt for support as he walked across the grounds that surrounded Shell Cottage.  Bill and Fleur had settled here not long after their wedding and Ron had spent the Christmas holidays with them, after his unseemly departure from his friends in the forest.  Hence, he was familiar with the layout and he heard the faint pop that indicated Harry had just arrived on the far side of the house.

 

Fleur must have seen him through the kitchen window, for the back door swung open and his sister-in-law held it ajar, her long blonde hair brushed back from the breeze, an apron around her waist.

 

“Vat haz happened?” she asked, as he passed into the house, easing Hermione’s body through the opening.

 

“I can’t really say, but Hermione needs a bed.”

 

“Of course, zis way.”  She turned, gesturing toward the back of the cottage and followed Ron with Hermione still clutched to his chest.  Luna, Dean, Mr. Ollivander and Griphook, the goblin had already arrived, thanks to Dobby’s help and Bill and Fleur were obviously shocked and springing into action.

 

“What’s going on?  What happened?”  Bill shouted back to Ron through the open front door, standing on his porch and looking toward the spot where Harry had just arrived.

 

“Check on Harry!” Ron called back, fearing for his mate’s safety and yet unwavering in his need to help Hermione.

 

Bill must have decided to find his own answers, for Ron heard Bill, Dean and Luna make a hasty exit, obviously to search the grounds for the newest of their unexpected guests.  Fleur’s soft footsteps, however, continued behind him.

 

Ron took Hermione directly to the room where he had stayed during his brief visit.  The guest bedroom was small, but homey.  Despite all of Fleur’s irritating habits, she did seem to have a flair for decorating.  The double bed lay draped in a blue and white quilt with two fluffy pillows at the head.  A small table sat beside it, next to the window that was covered in pale blue curtains.

 

Hermione was now making soft little whimpering noises each time he moved her and with as much strength and gentleness as he could muster, he leaned over the bed and set her on her side.  Fleur looked stunned, a delicate hand poised over her mouth as if suppressing the questions she longed to ask.  Ron knew he couldn’t tell any of them what had truly happened, but it was pretty obvious that Hermione had been cursed.  On top of that she had tiny cuts all over her arms and Ron picked a couple shards of glass out of her hair.

 

Honestly, Ron didn’t know what to do for her.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if there had been some lecture on treating the Cruciatus curse that he had missed while daydreaming or snoring through one of his lessons.  After all, he and Harry always counted on Hermione to know these things, but now he was seeing the error of his ways and he looked to Fleur hoping that she would know what to do.

 

However, calls from Bill drew Fleur from the room, obviously needed with Harry’s arrival and to care for the others.  Ron almost felt angry with her, as if Hermione should be her one and only priority, but the thought dissipated as quickly as it had emerged.  Using the confiscated wand, he performed the only healing spell he knew, waving it over the cuts on her forearms.  They appeared to heal to the point of not being bright red, but a lighter pink as he pushed the wand into his pocket.

 

Next, he began threading his fingers through her hair, trying to be cautious of cutting himself and yet wanting to be certain he had found all the glass.  She moaned and he wasn’t sure if his actions were hurting her or if the act of massaging her scalp as he searched for the glass was actually soothing.  Her hair was so soft and Ron allowed himself the guilty pleasure of enjoying the feel of it.  Soon, however, he began an internal berating session for having the audacity of feeling such pleasure when everything around him was sorrow and pain.  Finding no more glass, he pulled his hands free from her hair, rubbing one last strand between his fingers as he did.

 

Pausing for a moment to examine her shivering body, he rose and with two quick strides opened a nearby cupboard. He pulled out a large fluffy-looking comforter, waved his wand over it using a warming spell, then unrolled it over Hermione, grabbing the sides to tuck them around her as gently as he could.

 

“I’m going to make you some tea,” his hand lay on her arm.  “Just rest.”  Turning to leave, he paused when he felt her soft hand wrap around his wrist.

 

“Wait.”

 

His head whipped around at the sound of her voice.  Weak as it was, the sound was the sweetest music to his ears and he turned and sat gently on the edge of the bed, her hand slipping from his wrist to find his fingers.

 

“Don’t talk, just rest, Hermione.  You’ll be alright.  We’re at Bill and Fleur’s place.  Dobby got Harry out and he’s here, too.”

 

“Dobby?” she warbled, her eyes showing just the slightest hint of curiosity.

 

“He saved us, Hermione.”

 

He could almost sense a smile on her pale face.  Despite the torture, he could tell that she hadn’t lost her memory and he hoped beyond hope that all else would be well in due time.  

 

Again, he considered rising to get her the tea; it was all he could think to do for her at the moment and doing something, anything, was better than just sitting idle.  Still, something in her face told him she had more to say and he waited patiently, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

 

“I heard you,” she whimpered.

 

The statement was puzzling.  She heard him, what?  He looked questioningly at her, his head tilting to the side as he responded.

 

“You heard me?”

 

Her eyes blinked slowly as if the effort of staying open was too taxing.  When she spoke, it was haltingly, drawing in small breaths between each phrase.  “I heard you screaming my name.  In the manor.  I heard you.”

 

“Oh, yeah.”  For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.  This truly wasn’t the time for some love-filled confession and yet he wanted her to know the reason for his screams.  Perhaps she already knew, but then again, perhaps he had sounded like a deranged lunatic, pounding on the walls and bellowing her name at the top of his lungs.

 

“I wanted to help you.”  He paused, considering his words.  “I wanted you to know that I was with you.”

 

Her reply confirmed his hopes.  “It helped.  I tried to focus on your voice and it helped.”

 

“That’s good.”  Again, there was a desire to say more, but his mouth and mind couldn’t seem to agree on anything and so his other hand took the initiative and reached up to stroke her temple, trying to wipe away the lines that still creased her face in pain.  Watching as her sleepy eyes remained focused on him, her skin soft to his touch, her blanketed form warm beside him; he confessed something else that had been bothering him.

 

“I’m so sorry I left you and Harry.  I was a selfish git.  That locket was making me feel just horrible, but I still shouldn’t have left.”

 

“I know.”

 

Reaching down, he took her hand in both of his, stroking the back with his thumb.  Leaning just a bit closer, his eyes moving between hers, he finally spoke the words he had so wanted to confess.

 

“I’ll never leave you again, Hermione.  I promise.”

 

It was silent for a moment, neither one of them speaking, only staring into each others eyes.  Ron knew he should leave and check on the others and yet, the draw to remain with her was so overwhelming.  

 

Just then, a shuffle of footsteps broke the moment and he heard the presence of someone in the room.  Pulling back just slightly at the thought of no longer being alone, Ron only turned upon hearing the voice.

 

“Ron, Hermione, sorry to interrupt.”

 

Ron looked back at the bruised face of Dean Thomas standing in the doorway.

 

“Ron, can I speak to you?”

 

“Sure.”  Ron patted Hermione’s hand and stood up.  “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

 

Exiting the room, Dean pulled him out of earshot before telling him the news.

 

“Ron, Dobby’s dead.”

 

“What?”

 

Dean pointed Ron toward the window where he could see Harry, stepping on a small spade, Bill walking back toward the cottage.

 

“Harry’s trying to dig a grave.”

 

“What happened?”  Ron stood shocked, still staring on the window and only now noticing the tiny mound draped with a coat on the ground.

 

“Bellatrix’s knife in his chest.”

 

“Bugger,” he whispered.

 

Dean stood beside him in silence for a moment as Bill re-entered the house, glancing up at them as if the scene outside explained every thought in his head.  Ron knew without even considering it, that he had to go and help his mate dig a grave for the tiny little elf who had just saved them all.

 

“Let me get Hermione some tea and then we’ll go help, yeah?”

 

Dean nodded in agreement and Ron walked briskly to the kitchen, preparing the tea and heading back to Hermione’s room.

 

She appeared asleep and he didn’t want to disturb her.  Sleep was probably the best thing for her at the moment.  He waved a warming spell over the tea and set it on the tiny side table.  It would keep ‘til later.  About to leave, her voice drew him back again.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

His first thought was to tell her nothing, not to worry her with anything else.  She needed calm, rest.  Still, something else told him that keeping Dobby’s death from her would be an act of treason on his part, a crime against her emotions and he just couldn’t keep the horrible news from her.

 

Her eyes were still closed as he spoke.  “Dobby’s dead, Hermione.”

 

Fluttering open, her pupils widened and she attempted to lift her body onto an elbow, only to wince at the ache that was obviously still present in her joints.  “No!”

 

“Bellatrix’s knife got him.”  He tried to press her back down, again sitting on the edge of the mattress.  “Please rest Hermione.  Please.”  Her head fell back to the pillow as if drawn to it from sheer exhaustion.  “I brought you some tea.  It will stay warm until you feel ready to drink it.  Dean and I are going to go help Harry with Dobby.  I’ll be back later.  Bill, Luna and Fleur are just in the other room,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.

 

Only when he looked back and truly examined her eyes did he see the water behind them.  A crying Hermione was an almost unbearable sight for Ron.  It had only been minutes since he had calmed the last set of tears.  And the worst part of it was that witnessing her emotions just made him think more of his own and how much Dobby had done for them and the depth of gratitude he had for the little creature.  He pressed his lips together, trying to stem the well of emotion that threatened to blur his own eyes.

 

Finally, forced to look away or face his own tears, Ron drew himself up with a deep breath.  “I’ve got to go and help Harry.  I’ll come get you later and we’ll say a few words, alright?”

 

She nodded.  It appeared that trying to speak would only diminish her own emotional restraint and she had opted to bite her lip in an effort to remain calm.

 

Ron hated to leave her, he truly did, but his best mate needed help and Dobby deserved a proper grave.  He strode to the door, pausing, his hand on the door knob, ready to pull it closed when he glanced back one last time. Hermione gripped the edge of the quilt, sniffed and pulled it up around her neck, her head settling into the pillow.

 

She was safe, in a manner of speaking.

  


End file.
